Mountains
by Angelus1
Summary: Lemonade is so overrated.


Spoilers: VERY minor for 213 ("Ain't No Magic Mountain High Enough").

Archive: Anywhere, just ask me first.

Disclaimer: Veronica, Weevil, Lilly, Mac, Beaver, Jackie, Wallace, and all other characters mentioned here are the property of UPN, Rob Thomas, Stu Segall, and Silver Pictures. No copyright infringement is intended, so please don't sue, because I have no money.

Author's Notes: Inspiration can strike you at the oddest of times. Like when you're trying desperately to come up with an idea for a Magic Mountain ficlet that doesn't sound like you cribbed it right off of litchick08, who already explored so many of the possibilities so wonderfully. (If I could add a link, I would. Check her out on the "Love You Long Time" archive.) Then all of the sudden your college dining center decides to start selling cotton candy in honor of the circus this weekend, and BAM! Inspiration. Strange but true.

On another note, I like how the more fics I write, the higher the ratings start to climb. Interesting. There's a nice NC-17 Weeverfic in the works right this minute!

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On another note, I like how the more fics I write, the higher the ratings start to climb. Interesting. There's a nice NC-17 Weeverfic in the works right this minute!

Allright, so every once and awhile, I actually like living in Neptune. Mainly it's on days like this, when the sun is hot and the sky is blue and nothing can make the day better than an overpriced cup of lemonade. I momentarily curse myself for wearing a tank top, because I know that my shoulders are going to be burnt tomorrow, but I'm having far too much fun to care. Just the fact that it's the middle of the day and I'm not in school is enough for me, but it's the senior trip and I'm surrounded by friends and I can't remember the last time I felt this...giddy. Carefree. Whatever other cheesy adjectives you want to use.

I've already had Mac and Beaver kick my ass in every single game in the arcade. I rode American Eagle three times in a row with Wallace and Jackie. It would have been four, but we stopped once it started looking like Wallace's lemonade was about to catch up with him. And now I'm in the middle of a furious round of ski-ball with Weevil. We should have known ahead of time that it would get a bit out-of-hand, considering that we're both so fiercely competitive. But one of us came up with the bright idea to put something on the line, so we're going at it wholeheartedly, because the loser is springing for cotton candy. People have stopped to watch - even the carny, who looks like he's seen it all, has paused to observe the intensity of our battle. We're down to ten seconds and I'm barely holding onto my 150-point lead when all of the sudden, Weevil lands one of the 1,000-point holes. I throws down my last ball just as the buzzer sounds.

"Your arms are like three times bigger than mine, how is this fair?" I whine. Ok, so I don't like losing. Big surprise. Weevil flexes his muscles, and I have to make myself look away. Let's just say that his tight black T-shirt isn't really helping matters either.

"Don't be a sore loser, Mars. I'm sure there are plenty of other games you're good at," he says condescendingly, patting me on the head. Ohhhh, I could so kill him. But as I glare at him, he just grins and requests blue cotton candy, turning around to amble away like he hasn't a care in the world. I swear, there's infuriating and then there's Weevil.

The cotton candy sets me back seven bucks, and I'm never going to let him forget it because there's no way I should be paying that much money for half a pound of sugar and air. The crowds have been wonderfully absent all day, so it only takes me a minute or two to spot Weevil - leaning against the wall of a nearby gift shop, the awning he's under casting shadows over his face. For a second, the combination of darkness and distance almost makes it look like his mustache and beard are back in place, but once we saw how good he looks without them, Jackie and I put a stop to any and all attempts at growing them back. With the bare face and actual hair on his head, he looks good. Too good, sometimes - he's got the bad-boy charm down to a T and he knows it.

"For the record? I hate you," I complain, handing him the bag. He laughs.

"That's the best you can come up with? I'm disappointed."

"Yeah, well, you'll manage to turn anything else I say a come-on, so I figured I'd save you the trouble."

"How sweet." He digs into the colored fluff like it's the best stuff he's ever tasted, this big adorable grin on his face. "Want some?" he offers, holding out a chunk. I want to say no, but who am I kidding? I stuff the whole thing into my mouth and laugh when it tickles my tongue as it dissolves. It sticks to my fingers, so I lick it off. When I glance back up, Weevil is staring. Liked that, did he? I smirk. Channeling Lilly, I lick my lips slowly before sucking two of my fingers back into my mouth and swirling my tongue around them again, looking him in the eye the entire time.

"Can I have some more?" I ask, my voice coming out far breathier than I had intended. Without a word, he hands me the entire bag, and I have to laugh. "You're so easy," I tease, and proceed to eat another piece in a similar fashion. Weevil's eyes darken.

"_Chica_, that's anything but funny," he growls, leaning closer. I try to look serious, but I can't completely wipe the smile off of my face - Weevil tries to be such a badass, but it's so easy to push his buttons. In point of fact, I set down the bag of cotton candy and reach for his hand. Somewhere in the back of my mind I know that this is probably a bad idea, but Weevil's presence has never really been conducive to good decisions. What can I say? I have a bad boy fetish. Give me those big pecs and long dark eyelashes and I'm totally sunk.

I take his thumb into my mouth and suck, hard. I swear Weevil's knees almost buckle, and that's all the encouragement I need - with the tip of my tongue, I trace up and down each individual finger, down to the pinky. By the time I get there we're both breathing a bit erratically and I'm starting to think that this was a bad idea. But just as I lower my lips to suck on the bit of skin between his thumb and forefinger, Weevil reacts. He grabs my hips, sticky fingers and all, and spins me around, pinning me against the wall and attacking my mouth with his.

For a second I don't know how to respond, but instinct takes over fairly quickly - after all, how long have I wanted this? There are stray threads of sugar on his lips, but his tongue tastes even better - sweet from the cotton candy, yet darker and richer and spicier. His hands wander upwards and his hips press even closer, so that I'm sandwiched in between him and the wall behind me. As I slide my arms up around his neck, I decide to rescind my earlier statement.

Lemonade is so overrated.


End file.
